


Polyjuice Mishap

by Ariel_Riddle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Comedy of Errors, Dark, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hate to Love, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Magical Bond, Mudblood, Polyjuice Potion, Porn With Plot, S&R:CRW
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:30:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7151270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ariel_Riddle/pseuds/Ariel_Riddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>There's no one Draco hates more than Hermione, and Hermione can't hate Draco more. Yet the two are constantly forced to work together being Sixth Year prefects and tasked with organizing the Sweetheart Dance. Will their fragile truce last the evening? Especially when Draco makes a terrible mistake and can no longer keep his secret from Hermione? Lines will be tested during a ball the two of them will be hard-pressed to forget.<br/>~An older work - not my best writing~</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Polyjuice Mishap

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N: This is a OS originally posted under Wandlore Wordsmiths & Betas for the Dramione OS challenge. Judging and voting has ended so I am posting my entry on my personal site. This story won the Best Smut category. I did the first two art edits, the lovely Freya Ishtar gets credit for the third C: Happy reading and please drop me a line if you like!**

 

Constant bickering and constant complaining—it was grating on Hermione's nerves.

Was that all they were able to accomplish during these prefect meetings? She crossed her arms over her chest absently noticing the way her Gryffindor tie was not quite even. A muscle twitched beside her eye as she itched to fix it. It was challenging for her to abstain from perfecting things.

That brought her attention squarely back on the group assembled. Belinda Clearwater and Terrence Higgs were easy enough to get along with, it was the two Slytherins that got under her skin. _Zabini and…Malfoy—they're always making things difficult!_ She smoothed out her gray jumper over her white Oxford and stood up from her leaned position against the table.

"Alright everyone, that's enough," she said as she placed her hands on her hips in frustration. "Chang placed us in charge of the decorations for the Sweetheart dance, surely that's not too much for the five of us?"

"This Puff wants us to charm clouds around the ceiling," Zabini whined, gesturing to Clearwater. "Next, she'll want us to transfigure little angels with bows and arrows."

"How pathetically Muggle," said Malfoy.

"They're called cupids," she said distractedly. "And not clouds, rather, we should transfigure the pillars to trees."

"Trees?" Malfoy asked with a grimace. "That hardly fits the _Sweetheart_ theme."

"But it's romantic," Hermione argued. "Or at least, it will be once we've attracted fairies to be the evening's décor."

"What would you know about romance, Granger? I hardly think you're an expert in the area."

Hermione tried not to bristle at the insult. _Malfoy, baiting me again. Must he always disagree with everything I suggest. So bloody confrontational! Merlin, but I hate him!_

It was true; Malfoy was the first to contradict any motion Hermione tried to pass. They were always at ends, and it embarrassed her that it had to be this way at a Prefect meeting no less. But as of late, the teasing bantering, though it had always been cruel, seemed to have taken on an edginess she was hard-pressed to peg. Malfoy was always so tense anymore, jumpy even, like he had greater and more important things to do.

Instinctively, Hermione's head shot up to look at him. He looked ever the debonair Pureblood with his aristocratic features, platinum locks, and haughty stare, still—there was something so definitely different now.

Had he become gaunt since coming home from Christmas break? Paler still, if that was possible? She could not be sure, only she did sense a change in him. Feeling a cool, silvery gaze on her, she nearly jumped when she realized she'd been staring at him. She was horrified to realize she'd done the unthinkable.

Attempting to regain her bearings, she took a deep breath. Malfoy would not make a fool of her… _again_ _._ She was tired of the snickers from the other prefects. It was all completely uncouth, and she would get a handle on things. She simply had to appeal to his rational side.

"Look, Malfoy," she began. "Do you want to be here all night again? Or won't you help us figure this out? The dance is only a week away. We have to iron out the details once and for all."

He fixed her with his trademark smirk, and Hermione felt a blush creep up her neck. No matter how much she deplored that god-forsaken smirk of his, it always did funny things to her. "Lead on, Granger."

"Right then," she said, mentally shaking herself. "We've already agreed on most of the decorations, we simply need to figure out a few things. I suggest transfiguring the pillars in the Great Hall to trees."

"We can charm them to be pink or red," suggested Higgs.

"Brilliant!"

"What about Flitterbies?" asked Clearwater. "We can get them along with the fairies."

"Flitterbies are easy enough to come by, but how are we getting the fairies?" Malfoy queried.

"Hm," Hermione said pensively before managing a solution. "How about you conjure mirrors and take them through the Forbidden Forest? Fairies are known for their vanity. You can place a sticking charm on the mirror. Of course they'll be right at home in the trees we conjure."

"Play music too," Clearwater added. "That always helps bring them out."

"Phat chance of _that_ happening," Malfoy said.

"Alright," Hermione placated. "You can get the Flitterbies, then."

"Easy enough," replied Draco. "I'll just raid Snape's Potions cupboard."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Hermione muttered.

"Typical Granger; not opposed to breaking the rules so long as it suits her."

"I just implied I was opposed to it, Malfoy," she sneered. "As usual, you only hear what you want to hear!"

"Easy, Granger," Zabini said, stepping between them. "Let's get back on track. Any ideas for refreshments?"

Hermione sat back down on the desk. _He succeeded in making me lose my temper yet again._

"On the chair, Granger, not the desk," Malfoy admonished. Hermione ignored his order and proceeded to stare daggers at the blond wizard.

"We've got a lot of candies coming from Honeydukes," Clearwater said happily. "Not to mention treacle fudge and tarts, toffee pudding, custard and pumpkin tarts, and trifles from the kitchens."

"Sounds like we're solid there." Hermione nodded approvingly, already forgetting her anger. "Now, for the drinks—."

"Blaise has that sorted," Malfoy interrupted.

"Oh?" Hermione said, suppressing an eye roll.

"Yeah," Zabini said. "I was thinking a Butterbeer fountain coming out of the punch bowl."

"It'd make a good centerpiece," Higgs pointed out.

"Fine, but we should etch a Rune in it. One to counter spiking would be good."

"Boring," Malfoy said, thoughtlessly dismissing her idea. "How about one to automatically refill everyone's glass when it's empty?"

"They can just cast Repelo themselves," Hermione said.

"Most won't have their wands," Malfoy countered. "Besides, it's more theatrical this way. A complicated bit of magic to showcase our skill."

"Oh, I like that idea," Clearwater said. The others nodded in agreement.

"Okay," Hermione relented. "We can use the _Gebo_ Rune—for the gift of replenishing."

"The _Fehu_ Rune," Malfoy disagreed. "For wealth and overflowing."

"Fine," she seethed.

"I think that does it, you're all dismissed," Malfoy said, imperiously. Everyone got up, gathering their things as they prepared to leave.

 _How dare he_ _,_ she thought, _dismissing everyone at the meeting I'm facilitating?_

"Malfoy," she hissed. "A word."

He turned around, "What is it, Granger?"

Hermione waited patiently for the others to exit, all the while trapping him in her stormy gaze. "Must you insist on making me look like a fool in front of the prefects every time?"

"What do you expect?" Malfoy said, shrugging carelessly. "You make my skin crawl. I can hardly stand you. You can't even be bothered to pull yourself together for one bloody prefect meeting." He pointedly looked her up and down.

"I can't pull myself together?" she scoffed. "Look at you. You've been on edge the entire year. Your grades are slipping, and you look like you're battling night terrors. I hardly think you should have reason to worry about me."

In three long steps, he was in her face. "Look here, _filthy Mudblood_ _,_ how dare you even speak to your betters in such a way? It's a wonder they allow you to share the school with us." He was up in her face now, and Hermione marveled at the way he towered over her. "It's ridiculous really. They need to purge the lot of you."

"I know," alarm bells were going off in her head, but she continued on recklessly, "I'm a Mudblood bitch, not suitable to polish your shoes. Isn't that right?"

"Your magic is inferior, akin to that of hags," he agreed, nodding.

"Right," Hermione sighed, stepping away from him. _Merlin, but his proximity is so bloody…off putting._ "Only, here's the thing. I am here and my magic is hardly on the same caliber of hags."

"Only because you stole it!" Malfoy spat.

"Maybe so," she replied tersely. "But the fact is—it's mine. I'm here, and I'm staying, and there's nothing you can do about it. So I suggest you keep your distance, and when we do have to work together—do so civilly."

He looked borderline unhinged. Hermione had a moment of panic when she realized she was in a room alone with him. His breathing was haggard, and he was still far too close for her liking. As dangerous as he was, being this near to him was doing funny things to her heart, which beat loudly in her chest.

Finally, seeming to grab a handle on the situation, Malfoy said through gritted teeth, "For now, Granger."

"For now," she agreed. With that, Malfoy spun on his heel and walked with long strides towards the exit. "Malfoy," she called. His step slowed right before the door. "Don't forget to get the Oak Matured Mead from Professor Slughorn. The professors will want it at their table."

He reached for the door and left without saying a word.

 _He better bloody remember,_ she thought darkly.

**000**

Malfoy took a deep inhalation as the magic from the girl in front of him rushed to envelop him, igniting his senses and awakening his body.

Invigorating.

Incredible.

A magical high he'd only ever felt when casting an unforgivable.

It was… _just short of nirvana_.

Truly, it would have been perfect had it been like it was with Pansy. But Daphne's magical ability was clearly of the weaker version and not as matched to his own.

 _Whatever_.

It was worth it. Pansy tended to babble when they exchanged magic whereas Daphne stayed mercifully silent. Pans was good at everything—the epitome of a Pureblood princess, sharp-witted, not to mention magically capable, and a great shag. She was perfect in every way, but not in the way he needed.

For this purpose—he needed a dafter, gentler creature…and Daphne fit the bill perfectly.

"Mm, Draco," she moaned. "So good." She teetered precariously by his side where she sat perched on the stairs, feeling the effects of the magic they had shared. His vision was blurred, and he felt slightly invincible. He could only imagine how intensified it must be for her.

"Of course it is, pet," he drawled. "You got the better end of the deal, didn't you?" She pouted prettily. "No matter, I know a way you can make it up to me."

She reached for him, giggling as she trailed her fingers down his chest. He gripped her wrist to halt her. "No, not that," he said, then turned to face her seriously through the haze of the magical high. "Did you get it?"

"I did duel her, didn't I?" she replied snarkily.

Draco chuckled inwardly at that. Granger had set Daphne on her arse in DADA class. It was worth it though if Daphne got what he needed.

"Good girl."

"Draco, I don't see why…well, um, do you really want me to do this? I mean, why not Pans?"

"Pans isn't like you," he said easily. "Not as open-minded. Besides, I need this, and she…she doesn't understand." Then he turned to face her, turning up the charm a few levels. "And she's not as good as keeping secrets as you are. I know you can help me, won't you?"

Daphne nodded shyly.

"Good," he praised. "Now remember—the day of the dance, and I _don't_ want you to break character no matter what."

"I'd be happy to Draco, _whatever_ you need."

"That's why you're my favorite, Daph. Now, how about another go before we get back to the common room?"

"Alright," she said reaching for her wand, gripping it. Facing each other, they rested their foreheads against one another. Focusing, Draco reached for his magic, exerting the control he'd become famous for as he harnessed some of the power and thrust it towards Daphne. She gasped at the force of it, letting out another exhilarating sigh before shoving the growing juggernaut back at him. He felt alive as the power rushed through him, alive and… _free_.

"What the _bloody hell_ is going on here?"

Smiling, Draco opened his eyes and turned to face Granger standing in the corridor. Daphne scrambled quickly away from him. For the first time, he neglected to erect his mask of impassiveness, letting her see clearly what was in his eyes-all the horrifying things, and all the things he wanted to do to her.

She took a step back.

"Granger," he greeted. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I thought, er, I'm not sure but I saw…magic. You were passing magic between each other. I've never heard of that," she rambled.

"You wouldn't, would you? It's a Pureblood thing, something you can't understand."

Hermione looked peeved. Like she'd come upon a problem she was just itching to solve. A muscle clenched distractedly by her eye, showcasing a dimple on her right cheek he so rarely got to see.

 _I never make her smile_.

But _he_ was smiling. He could tell she was jealous—jealous there was magic she didn't know about. _She wants to try it_ , he realized, _and I bet it'd be glorious...with her_.

"You're a prefect for Godric's-sake," she chided. "And this is _your_ patrol. I may not be able to take points from you, but I can from Greengrass if you're going to negate on your duties, Malfoy."

Feeling the rush of magical endorphins, he forced out the words he needed to say, the right words, "Why don't you just get the fuck out and leave, Mudblood? We don't want to be tainted by your filth."

He'd meant it cruelly, the words were harsh, but he wasn't sure it had the right effect with his deranged smile. Hermione gulped before whirling the away, fleeing down the corridor.

He smiled smugly, feeling oddly satisfied. Things were going his way. When he turned to Daphne, he felt guilt claw its way up into his mind at the knowing look she fixed him with.

**000**

 

Hermione was pleased to see the progress made in the Great Hall. It was nearly as unrecognizable as it had been the night of the Yule Ball. The giant pillars lining the hall were replaced with tall trees that's leaves were charmed a deep rose color. Twinkling lights in the form of fairies flitted from branch to branch along with the sound of their lilting laughter. The enchanted ceiling was masked by thick white clouds, and in the spur of the moment, Hermione conjured silver and red balloons that rose above her head and stopped just short of the enchanted sky, bouncing under the clouds.

The long rows of tables had been vanished to make way for the dance floor. Smaller tables were clustered around the sides with gaudy heart themed centerpieces and hovering flitterbies. The rectangular refreshment tables held all the treats they'd talked about as well as various drinks. In the center of it all was the Butterbeer fountain Blaise had been working on. Hermione had to begrudgingly admit how impressed she was with the magical spectacle; it was quite eye catching, and she admired the Runes etched into the crystal encasement. It was clear the Slytherin was quite adept at Rune casting. She was immensely pleased Malfoy had managed to procure Celestina Warbeck for the evening's entertainment. Though she wasn't surprised given his connections.

Sighing in relief that the disagreeing group of prefects had managed to produce suitable decorations, Hermione made her way back to the Gryffindor Tower so she could dress for the evening, content she hadn't forgotten anything.

Upon reaching the dorms, she noticed Parvati and Ginny readying themselves—just where she'd left them thirty minutes prior.

"Need any help, 'Mione?" Ginny offered. "I can do your hair if you like."

"That's alright, Gin," she said. "I've got it sorted, but thanks."

She reached into her armoire and selected the sleeveless white gown she had picked up in Muggle London. The silk gleamed with an almost silver sheen to it. It fit her like a glove and flared out at the hips. She pulled out the strappy silver heels she'd selected for the evening from her chest and dressed.

Her normally covered arms and neck felt chilled as she was not used to showing so much skin. She glanced over to see Ginny checking out her form, clad in skintight red silk that went just to her mid-thigh and thought her own dress quite modest in comparison. It was strapless, but the bust covered her cleavage and only revealed the milky skin of her neck and shoulders. She adored the skirt and the way it puffed at the waist to swish flirtatiously around her knees.

She walked over to the mirror and pulled out the Beautifying Charms book she had bought from _Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Potions_ over Christmas break. There was an anti-frizz spell she thought would work perfectly for her hair. She decided to wear it down, pinning half of it away from her face, wearing it smooth with only a slight wave. This method was far quicker than the all the jars of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion she went through during Fourth Year. She opted for the Muggle way when she put on her makeup; only outlining her cheekbones with a light blush and frosty shadow over her eye. She touched it up with a bit of mascara and was ready to go.

"Parv, Gin, don't tell me you're still not ready?"

"Almost done," replied Parvati. "Just another moment or two."

It was fifteen before they were finally ready to leave the Tower and make their way to the Sweetheart Ball. Hermione wondered if the extra time she took in getting ready would catch Ron's eye, who was always so wrapped up with Brown anymore.

"Oh, 'Mione," Gin said, admiring the transformed room. "You guys really outdid yourselves."

"And to think," Parvati said, nodding in agreement. "You did all this with those incorrigible Slytherins. They must be a nightmare to work with."

"I don't know about that," Ginny said. "Blaise is pretty cute. I think I may ask him to dance. I mean look at the figure he cuts in those dress robes."

Hermione looked to where she was gesturing and felt her breath catch when she saw a certain Slytherin who _certainly_ cut a fine figure in his dress robes.

Draco Malfoy looked the epitome of a debonair Pureblood. His platinum locks were neatly styled. He wore a black dress suit under his expensive wizard robes. His ever haughty sneer was present on his face, but for a brief moment, his eyes widened slightly when he caught sight of her. The moment was very brief, however, as the mask quickly slipped back into place. Hermione had to wonder if she was just seeing things.

 _The prat! He has no right to come here looking like that_.

"Oh, will you quit drooling," Ginny chided, pulling her to the dance floor. "Come on, it's time to let loose. Merlin knows you need it."

"I wasn't _drooling_ ," Hermione said defensively. "I was merely making a mental note on whether I need to do any last minute alterations."

"That _won't_ be happening tonight. You've worked hard, now we play!"

"Hold on," she said. "Let me get us some drinks." She made her way to the refreshments table, wishing she had her wand to simply hover the drinks back to the group of girls but there had been no place for it in her dress.

"Perfect timing," a voice said, startling her. Hermione looked up to see Draco and his date Pansy sneering down at her.

She had to work hard not to be caught up in that silver gaze of his, but there was so much intensity in his gray eyes. She fought the inclination to take a step back from him. _Handsome, well of course he's handsome-Malfoys have always been that. It's the inner beauty that's missing_.

"Malfoy," she greeted coolly. "What do you need?" She was still slightly annoyed at finding him and Greengrass seated comfortably next to each other the week prior, she still couldn't figure out what they'd been up to, despite the many books she poured through. She had an inkling to ask, but knew she couldn't do so now.

"Fetch us a glass, Mudblood," ordered Pansy. "That's the only thing you're kind are good for—serving."

She was unsure why her eyes sought out his again, but she was curious to see if he was going to let that slide. Of course he was, this was Malfoy—he got off on this sort of thing.

"Fetch your own, Parkinson," she said evenly. "Now if you'll excuse me."

"Not so fast," Malfoy said, halting her. She looked up at him searchingly. "I just bet you think you're hot shit, dressed like that, carrying yourself like a bloody princess. But you're not, you're filth, so knee deep in mud, it's disgusting." Though he was speaking horrible, wretched things, she couldn't help feeling like it was a pretense, a thinly veiled mask hiding something he did not want her to see. He was trying to be so carefully aloof, but she could sense the tension.

"Yes, well, you've made your point. No need to press the issue."

He let her pass this time, and she stumbled, slightly shaken, back to Ginny and Parvati, three drinks in tow.

Passing around the crystal glasses of Butterbeer, she grew irritated when she detected the Firewhiskey it was spiked with. _That blasted Zabini and Malfoy. I'll just bet they did the deed themselves, too!_

Despite her misgivings, the night went on splendidly. She was surprised how much fun it actually was just to dance with the girls. _Though I wish a certain wizard would ask me_ , she sighed inwardly, closing her eyes and picturing blond locks. _Wait no, red locks, yes, of course I'm picturing them red. Sodding Malfoy-he makes me positively mad._

When Celestina Warbeck began playing a slower tune, Hermione had no choice but to step to the sidelines. She found her gaze wandering and had to stop herself from seeking out the pompous Slytherin she so loathed— _definitely loathed_.

"Miss Granger."

"Professor Dumbledore," she greeted. "I do hope the dance meets your liking."

"Lovely job, Miss Granger," he acknowledged. "But I had wondered, the Oak Matured Mead, it isn't at the Professor's table?"

"Oh, it isn't?"

"Sadly no."

 _Damn that Malfoy, he had one task, an easy one. Merlin, but I hate him so much!_ Her eyes wandered over the crowd, wanting to seek him out and hold him accountable to finish the job, but he was nowhere to be found.

"My apologies, Professor. An oversight. I'll fetch a house elf to get it." She hated to bother them, but thought if she asked nicely it wouldn't be such a demand.

"Unfortunately, that won't work. Horace has his office heavily warded, and even house elfs cannot Apparate. A password is needed."

"Alright," she said, suppressing her annoyance. "I'll go then. What's the password?"

" _Billywig_. Are you sure you don't mind, Miss Granger?"

"Of course not. I'll be back shortly."

She turned around and headed towards the exit of the Great Hall. _Leave it to Malfoy to add to my workload!_

She got a feeling of unease when she arrived in the dungeons. Usually, she avoided the place; it was the only area of Hogwarts she didn't like. She went to Potions class every Monday but usually she was accompanied by her loud and boisterous friends. Now the floor was vacated, as everyone was in the Great Hall at the dance, which gave it a decidedly eerie feeling.

The sconces on the wall cast oddly distorted shadows, and she found herself walking hurriedly to Professor Slughorn's office. Every time she passed dim alcoves, she had the feeling someone was going to reach out and grab her. It was oddly disconcerting and a far cry from the courageous Gryffindor's usual countenance.

Just a few more steps. The office was in sight, almost within reach when an arm shot out and grabbed her, pulling her roughly into the shadows. Hermione yelped in surprise , but a hand clasped over her mouth.

Annoyance ruling over terror, she spun around to face her would-be-assaulter, and he broke his strong grip to let her do so.

"Malfoy," she sneered. "So this is where—."

Hermione could not finish her sentence as his lips came crashing down on hers _hard_. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and slammed her back into the stone wall. At first, she was frozen in shock, but quickly came to terms with the situation and struggled against him. Her threats were muffled on her tongue as Malfoy was relentless in his kiss. Her movements only incited him to tighten his grip.

Raising her arms with all the strength she could muster, she broke free and deliberately pushed him in the chest. He stumbled away from her, a look of surprise etched on his face.

"Have you gone mad?" she raged. "Did you, somehow, vacate your senses and forget who I am? Have you been Obliviated?"

Malfoy's dark chuckle sent chills down her spine. "Oh you're good, very good, Daph. Please, whatever you do, keep it up." He was reaching for her again, and Hermione thought she may be losing it.

"Wait," she ordered. She picked up her hands and looked at them under moving shadows the light from the sconces caused. They were her hands, weren't they? She glanced down at her feet and the toes of her silver heels. She was her, so why did Malfoy think she was someone else? She looked up at him questioningly, at a loss for his odd behavior. She saw her reflection dance in his eyes and grew entranced. His proximity was oddly drugging and she was taken aback by how beautiful he looked when he wasn't sneering at her. "Why in Merlin's name would you think I'm Daphne, Malfoy?"

"Because," he started, stepping stealthily forward. "I can't believe you actually got the same dress and everything. Fuck, you even smell like her." His eyes fixed on her lips, and she licked them instinctively. "Taste like her even, though I haven't, I didn't quite get to…"

This time, his lips made a slow dissent, and Hermione watched it happen in a detached sort of way. Somehow, her mouth seemed to open of its own accord, granting him access. With a groan he kissed her wildly. The kiss was punishing, not like any she'd experienced before. He pressed his lips firmly, flicking out his tongue to taste her before nibbling on her bottom lip. He alternated between suckling her tongue and biting her lip, hard and hungry.

He was frantic.

Desperate.

Hermione was spellbound.

She had yet to even participate and already this was going down as the greatest kiss in her life. In a fit of madness, she decided she shouldn't be a footnote in her own best kiss and let Malfoy dominate just like he did with everything else, so she decided to engage.

Her hands wound around his neck as she threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer.

He groaned.

Following his lead, she twined her tongue with his, not even noticing the way he stepped forward to close the gap between them. Wildly, his arms twisted around her pulling her soft curves flesh up against his hot ridges. She let out an involuntary whimper and squeezed her thighs together, squirming for something she didn't know.

He didn't let her. He stepped in between her legs and Hermione became alarmed at the delicious friction she felt where heat pooled low in her abdomen. He sensed her fear and broke the kiss to drag his tongue along her jaw and up to the shell of her ear.

"You're being a tease today," he whispered, his voice course and lost. "Playing ever the prude." _Prude_ , she thought vaguely, _I'm snogging the man senseless, that's hardly_ —She gasped when he nipped a particularly sensitive tendon on her neck. He was making her feverish, she could feel herself dissolving. She'd thought she could be in control but felt her conscious mind fizzling away. "Quit being a tease, already." He snapped his hips forward and she felt what could only be his arousal.

"I'm a Mudblood," she said, finding her voice and ignoring the way it cracked. "You told me so countless times."

"I know."

"Well, then, why are you doing this?"

"Because I want you in spite of it."

" _I_ _n spite_ ," she repeated. "Malfoy, there should be no _in spite_ , that's the bloody problem with you—insufferable prat!"

She broke away, successfully this time.

"Look Greengrass, I know what I said, but this is getting ridiculous. Give in already."

"Why the bloody hell do you think I'm _her_?" And then it hit her—could it be that he thought she was a Polyjuiced version of herself? But why would Greengrass pose as her?

Annoyed, Malfoy ran his hand through his hair. Hair she had successfully tousled in a decidedly attractive way. "Look," he started. "You obviously need to relax. I know we don't have our wands, but we can still do it. Come on, let's go back to the common room."

"I'm not doing anything with— wait, you mean the magical exchange thing?" Hermione's curiosity was peaked, and she could not help but want to see what it was all about as she let him pull her away.

He said nothing as he continued to drag her to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. Absently, she realized she'd never been there before and noted where it was between the stone wall. "Pureblood," he muttered, and the stones drifted apart to reveal a passage. He led her through quickly to a green divan in the corner.

Turning to face her, he smirked. "Yes, _the magical-exchange-thing_. Now, have a seat." To his irritation, she actually contemplated it first before finally giving in. She couldn't pass up the opportunity to see a rare bit of magic. "Turn and face me. It will be different this time, it's harder to call upon your magic with no wand."

 _No it isn't_ , Hermione scoffed inwardly. She'd called upon her magic countless times, especially when she was feeling stressed and needed the calming relief of her magic. She complied with Malfoy's demand taking a sit cross-legged in front of him.

"Can you reach for your magic? Can you feel it?"

"Of course," she snapped. She called forth her magic easily, and let it crackle around her proudly. He did the same. "Now what?"

"Now, you're going to take as much of it as you can, and thrust it back towards me."

She eyed him skeptically, but curiosity got the better of her, and she complied. It was harder to do than she'd thought it would be, her magic did not want to leave the comfort of her presence. Sensing her struggle, Malfoy scooted closer. Finally, the magic yielded to her demand, and as if a spring had broken, the force of it rushed towards him.

With a groan, he flinched away before reaching for her hands and holding on to her fiercely. She could sense their combined magic, it was like it had a life of it's own. She had the growing desire to reach out and touch it. Hermione felt as if suspended in air, and she was oddly entranced by the way he had closed his eyes in apparent bliss. He opened his, and she marveled at the way they looked like hard metal. Her breath hitched, and it was then, that he thrust the powerful force of their combined magic back at her.

She felt as if she'd been hit with an electric jolt and was vaguely aware of her head hitting the soft cushions though it felt as if she were floating. The force of it thrummed around her, alive and wonderful, and Hermione found herself gripping onto Malfoy's shoulders for dear life as he'd somehow landed on top of her and was feathering open-mouthed kissed on her neck.

Consumed by the intensity of the bond that had erupted between them, Hermione found herself curiously testing the magical connection as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She scraped her fingernails through his scalp, and he snapped his hips forward where his lower half had somehow landed nestled between her thighs. Through the direct conduit, she could swear she felt his feelings. In between the darkness, there was so much...tenderness. She felt invincible. Opening her eyes, she glanced at the divan and wandlessly cast a space increasing charm. Sure enough, the divan widened itself, accommodating both of them and proving her theory correct.

Combining magic was _powerful._

Her legs twisted around his waist, securing him to her as she turned her head to give him better access. The feeling of his lips along the column of her neck, his hands digging into her hips, it was _sublime_ , and she could feel herself heading towards delirium. His fingers were ghosting up her legs, digging into her thighs, and in a moment of clarity, her eyes widened in alarm, and she surged forward, her magic sending him flying into the opposite end of the couch.

Draco felt reckless with elation and oddly giddy as he reveled in the powerful force of their combined magic. How had it not been like this before? Did the Polyjuice have something to do with it? It felt loads more intense than it had with Pansy, and he could only guess at why. He could think of nothing but his raw, aching need to be inside of her. He wrenched her thighs apart. He could no longer play this game, it was time he gave in. He'd deprived himself for too long and to finally have the object of his desires—even if it was _wrong_ , even if she was _filthy_ , even is she was just a copy—though she didn't feel like a copy, he couldn't wait another moment.

He was shocked when the girl in question sent a forceful blast of energy at him, stunning him, and throwing him off her into the process.

"Knock it off, Malfoy," the Granger look-alike ordered in a very Granger like tone. "It's been fun, and the magical exchange was, er...educating. But it's time I get back to the dance. This has gone far enough."

"Daphne—."

"Not _Daphne_. I'm Hermione, that's Granger to you. Unless you're prepared to answer my questions, I'll see you around, Malfoy." The witch stumbled to her feet, swaying precariously.

Draco smirked, _he wasn't letting her go anywhere_. With seeker-like reflexes, his arm shot out to grab her, ensnaring her back against him. His lips fell back to the crook of her neck where his tongue flicked out to taste her. "Alright, Granger," he muttered against her skin. "I'll play along. What are your questions?"

Her breathing had sped up considerably. His mind was still buzzing, but through the haze there was lucidity. The magical exchange was too powerful for her not to feel the same, and even though it had lessoned, he still felt drugged by her proximity.

"It's not rational." She shook her head. "It doesn't make sense why you want this. You think my blood's a mistake."

"It doesn't have to be _rational_." He pulled her down beside him, and just for a moment, became trapped in her molten caramel gaze. Eyes alight with fire, intelligent and aware, _so very Granger_. He needed that, he needed her. She was everything and suddenly he forgot about Daphne and Polyjuice. This was _his_ Granger, and he needed to get through to her. "We argue—it's what we _do_. But now, you can stop pretending."

"Pretending what?"

"Pretending you don't feel it too. That you don't want me just as much as I want you."

"You're _wrong_. Delusional, I _don't want you_." But even as she fought him, he could see the tell-tale blush, the rising and falling of her chest, her dilated pupils...she wanted _this_. She wanted _him_. He just needed to tempt her, persuade her, whisper whatever she needed to hear.

He pushed her back on a pillow and sidled next to her. His hand ghosted over the white silk covering her stomach, sliding up further, tantalizingly close to her heaving chest. "I think about it all the time," he whispered into her ear. "During the prefect meetings, when you're leaned back on the desk, I try to imagine what you look like under that perfectly white blouse of yours. I wish I could peel off your jumper, pop open those ridiculous buttons, I want to see you—it consumes me." Her eyelids fluttered and emboldened, Draco pressed on. "I want to know the color of your bra, your knickers, it drives me wild. I even wonder right now."

"I'm not wearing one."

The hand rubbing her abdomen edged up towards the bodice of her gown, and he glanced down in fascination at the discovery of her hardened nipples poking through the fabric. His cock twitched. "I want to pull your dress down, I want to put my mouth and hands over them before I taste them. Will you let me?"

Her breath hitched but he could tell she was still struggling against him. _Always resisting_.

"Come on, Granger," he breathed. "We're alone in an empty common room. _Just let me_. You want it too. _Admit it_."

This time, she could not suppress the breathless moan that escaped. He threaded his fingers through her hair, that wild mane he adored even though she'd managed to tame it, somewhat. Impatiently, he pulled the bodice of her gown down and... _fuck_.

 _Beautiful_.

Her breasts were begging to be touched, and he reached for them, squeezing and flicking before pressing his mouth down eagerly. The noises she was making were delicious, he wanted to swallow them up. He kissed her, hot and demanding. She complied with equal fervor, and he marveled at the way it felt so freeing. He would _finally_ have her.

His hands left her breasts and dragged along her dress, bunching up the fabric as he wrenched her thighs apart, simultaneously pressing his throbbing arousal into her. He let out a desperate growl as he felt her wet knickers. He had to get their clothes off, he was right there, just where he needed to be, and he could hardly wait another second. But first…

"I have to," he mumbled. "Let me. _Ineedtotasteyou_."

She made incoherent noises as his fingers ghosted over the drenched fabric, to the hem, and then…"Fuck, Granger." So wet, so ready for him. He flicked her clit, and the sound she made was desperate and unhinged. He slipped a finger between her slick folds, and then she was bucking, writhing, arching off the cushions.

No longer in control, his other hand flew to his trousers. He unzipped himself freeing his swollen cock, already weeping with the urge to be inside her. He squeezed it and screwed his eyes shut at the indescribable feeling of relief. Had he ever been this hard? He didn't think so.

When he withdrew his fingers, Hermione thought she may scream in agony. She'd been so close! If only he'd continue that delicious motion, that wonderful flick of his wrists. Her eyes flew open, a reprimand on the tip of her tongue when she saw him quickly drop to his knees, hitch his hands around her knees and drag her to the edge of the enlarged sofa.

He looked up at her there. His beautiful gray eyes pierced her with a dark intensity. Her legs tried to close but he held them steadfast. "You don't know what you do to me," he said huskily.

Then he was dipping his head, low, and lower still. She tried to close her legs, an embarrassed blush taking over her face but he did not relent his grip. And then, his mouth pressed into her, tongue melting, so hot and...Hermione thought she may have screamed as she fell back against the pillows. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt herself dissolving once more.

Abruptly, that decadent sensation was gone, and her eyes flew open in confusion, rife with anger and _need_.

"You'll look at me," he demanded roughly. "You'll watch what I do to you. You'll never forget that it was me that made you feel this way."

She dragged herself up on her elbows as she looked down at him, content when he lowered her head to her once more. " _Malfoypleasedon'tstop_ ," she begged, her mind unable to form coherent words.

His tongue moved in delicious patterns, working her hot flesh. Her leg hooked around his shoulder and she was _not_ pushing him away this time. Rather, her fingers gripped his hair, shamelessly pressing into his mouth, begging.

"Fuck," he muttered. "So good. I knew you would taste _so good_."

She felt herself approaching a precipice, heading towards indescribable bliss. But he was playing her, teasing her, he kept her cruelly and purposefully on the edge when all she wanted to do was throw herself over the mysterious ledge. She coaxed him, threatened him, then begged him to _please_...please what she wasn't sure. He only laughed darkly, and the sound was sinful, delicious, she wanted him, and she told him so.

He growled, and then dropped the hand holding the leg around her shoulder to slip into her. She was sure her eyes must have rolled back into her head.

"You want to come, love?"

" _YespleaseMalfoy_ ," she moaned, coming apart and thrashing as if under the Cruciatus.

He curled his fingers just so and then…

The room seemed to shift in front of her. She screamed his name as hot white light consumed her head as her vision shrank to nothing but Malfoy moving between her legs. He raised his head and through her bliss, she was struck by the ravenous need that graced his handsome face. _So honest. So beautiful_ when he wasn't sneering in disgust. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to assuage that need.

His fingers pulled out even though she was still spinning...still careening...still free falling.

"I can't, I'm sorry, Granger. But I have to, I _need_ to be inside you."

He was shifting her, placing her legs longways on the couch as he climbed in between her, positioning himself. Her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of _him_ , at the thought of _that_ in her. But her muscles were still clenching and unclenching and she realized absently, that she needed this as much as him.

"Yes, it's alright. _I want you_. Please, don't hold back."

The tip of him brushed against her dripping folds and the sensation was so electrifying it was almost painful. She needed _more_.

His face was strained as he inched further inside of her. Her violent shudders only making him hold himself tenser still as she sucked him in.

"Like a bloody furnace. I can't, I have to, _fuckIneedyou_."

He snapped his hips forward and Hermione winced in a mix between pain and pleasure, her orgasm never quite ebbing. His eyes flew open, and he froze.

He was almost there, _finally fucking there_ , when he felt it. A barrier, a barrier that had no place being in Daphne Greengrass. Yet, it was. Heat flooded his already flushed face at the realization...the ramifications... _the consequences_.

"Granger?" he asked blearily, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

"Well, who else would it be?"

"You...you were in the dungeons?"

"Only because _someone_ forgot the mead."

"Oh fuck," he lamented. "How am I supposed to, I can't, fuck." Screwing his eyes shut in concentration, he began pulling himself out of her inch by inch.

_Gryffindor Princess._

_Prefect._

_Goodie-two-shoes Granger._

_And I'm doing this with her, so fucking bad!_

He wanted to sob as he withdrew from her velvety, tight sheath. How could this happen?

"And what do you think you're doing?" Using her legs, she flipped them both over, Draco too stunned to resist. His tip still torturously inside her.

"Please, I can't think, my head, I want to bury myself in you so badly. I'm trying to—."

She leaned her head down to kiss him, tasting herself, and he could hardly respond, stunned even more so. When she broke the kiss, she smiled. "It's okay, Draco," his eyes widened. "It's like you said; we can stop pretending now."

Then, she sat fully on him, impaling herself to the hilt. Her eyes closed in a mixture of pain and bliss, but soon, the bliss overcame the pain. He thought he'd never seen something so beautiful. The feel of her, clenching him so impossibly tight, squeezing him, caressing him like a velvet glove. His senses were quickly abandoning him as he was overcome with the sensation to move.

He gripped her hips and lifted her slightly before slamming her back down as he thrusted up. He groaned at the wonderful sensation, pure joy taking over his face as he smiled quite madly.

"Like that, _Draco_."

"Anything you wish, love."

They moved together in earnest. He could feel the heat building in his balls, threatening to explode and seeking release so finally. She rocked against him, and he thrust into her.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured against her chest. "Your blood—it doesn't matter. You're beautiful...perfect... _intelligent_." She was whimpering and Draco continued on recklessly. "I think I may love you." He gripped her hips as his movements became erratic. "Say, you'll be mine, _fuck...promise me_."

" _Please_ ," she cried. "I'll be yours. _Justdon'tstop_." He rocked his hips just so, positioning himself to pound her clit. When he felt her pleasure hit her, he couldn't hold back, the feeling of her orgasm tightening around his cock was too phenomenal to resist. "Hermione," he breathed. He moaned when he exploded into her, the intensity of his release causing his vision to blur.

"Draco."

Still shuddering from the aftereffects of their lovemaking, he held her securely against him, tenderly, _lovingly_.

**000**

"'Mione looked pretty good tonight, didn't she?" asked Ron. "Though I don't know where she went off to."

"Who do you think I'm looking at," said Harry, gesturing to the Professor's table.

"It's just 'Mione and the Ferret, handing something to the Dumbledore."

"Yeah, but look."

Ron scrunched his eyes and then turned red at the odd sight before him.

Hermione and Malfoy were holding hands.

 


End file.
